


I Hear the Secrets That You Keep When You're Talking in Your Sleep

by jojothecr



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Written in 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojothecr/pseuds/jojothecr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Jensen's tired, falling asleep while Jared's eating and mumbling. Jensen says more than he wants to and Jared realizes that, hey, maybe Jensen's not the only one with a secret...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hear the Secrets That You Keep When You're Talking in Your Sleep

“This is stupid,” Jared claims around a mouthful of rice as he leans back, dropping his head against the sofa behind him.

Jensen’s voice sounds like it’s coming from a real distance, no matter that his mouth is only a few inches from Jared’s ear now. It’s raspy and weary, barely there. “What is?”

“He is,” Jared elaborates, pointing with his empty fork towards the television screen. “Why is he saying that when everybody already knows that? I mean, _I_ know that, and I don’t even have any idea what’s going on there. Or what actually happened.”

“It’s just a TV show,” Jensen mutters as he sinks deeper into the embrace of the cushions underneath his head, making his words even less audible.

“Yeah, but… our TV show is also only a TV show… and it’s not stupid. At least they say so.”

“So this is a stupid TV show.”

Jared straightens up a bit with a sigh and nods approvingly. Jensen might be practically already off-line, but he’s still got a point. “Hmm.”

“It’s Horatio Caine,” Jensen mumbles into the pillow, drifting even further away. “What more would you want from him?”

“Dunno,” Jared shrugs as he takes another bite of his chicken. “To be less Horatio Caine-like, maybe?”

It’s actually Jensen’s unfinished dinner, slowly but surely cooling chicken with rice, but Jensen was, as usual, more tired than hungry. He’d been falling asleep the moment they called, _'Cut!_ , and Jared had to literally lead him across the parking lot and to the car. He had been pretty set on falling asleep leaned against the pole of the nearest streetlight otherwise. Once in the car, Jensen’s head dropped onto Jared’s shoulder straightaway, weighing suddenly too much to be held up, pounding with Dean’s pain and qualms and Jensen’s tiredness a little too much, too. The short, soft spikes, still standing up due to the amount of hair gel on them, rustled on Jared’s shirt, then tickled his chin when he rested his head against Jensen’s. Cliff looked at them through the rear view mirror, smiling sympathetically at the picture they were portraying – a sight he’d seen countless times before, and would see hundreds times again, so familiar and therefore so close. He lowered the volume on the radio, turning down Chester’s piercing voice, and maybe crossed the speed limit a few times on the way home for the benefit of the two drowsing men.

Jared, on the other hand, was as always, more hungry than tired, still bouncing with energy and adrenaline, and pressurized with borrowed emotions. He should be tired, he’s pretty sure about that, and maybe underneath the many layers of Sam and his demon blood addiction, he really is, but apparently it hasn’t soaked that deep yet.

He rants on, losing both the beginning, then the ending of his speech. Sometimes even the main point. Going on, even when there’s absolutely no response coming from behind him, besides the regular, deep breathing that occasionally fans across his neck. Even when he has no idea what he’s actually saying or talking about.

“I think I should paint it here,” he contemplates aloud as he chews on the last bites of his chicken, staring up at the ceiling above thoughtfully. “The yellow’s kinda too... _yellow_. I was thinking orange, maybe. Or green... perhaps?”

“Nah,” Jensen yawns as he shifts a little, making the cushions rustle and the sofa creak under his weight. Startling Jared, because he was sure Jensen was fast asleep. “Not today. Not today, please.”

“You’re awake?”

“No.”

“Yeah,” Jared snorts, then moans when he stretches his legs, feeling the ache slowly spread up through his body. “I thought so.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Jensen asks, sounding almost accusing. “Or are you just gabbling from hunger, unable to shut up? Unable to stop fidgeting either?”

“I am tired,” Jared explains seriously. “But I’m too tired to sleep... And sorry, but I need to move once in a while. Y’know?”

Jensen’s reply is rather incoherent, it could be ‘yes’, or it could just as easily be ‘no’. “Hmmm.”  
Because Jared knows him, he’d say it definitely meant ‘no’.

“The scenes are still just too alive... too vivid. Too close yet.”

Jensen hums in agreement, because he definitely understands this, and shimmies once again, hiding his face behind the tail of one pillow to shield his eyes from the flashing TV. “You were great today.”

“Well, thank you---”

“Just thought that you should know that.”

“—You weren’t bad either.”

Jensen’s never bad, that’s the problem. He’s always one hundred fifty percent concentrated, giving everything he has to offer, bringing it from the deepest levels of his own being. And he pushes Jared forward, too, makes him try harder, give more. It’s not a competition though. He trusts Jared, believes in his abilities and forces him to believe in them, too. Jared knows he’s getting better mostly thanks to Jensen.

“You really are a good actor,” Jensen goes on, emphasizing each word, although they’re still mostly muffled by the cushions and the sleepiness in his tone. “You’re amazing... always. And you’re funny. And smart. And pretty. I like you, y’know? Of course you don’t. _I_ didn’t know... But now I do and it’s... Is not fun, y’know? It's scary. I guess it's right... maybe love should be scary, but I’m not really enjoying it, y’know?... I don’t like being scared, and I think that...you should know that...”

Jared’s convinced that Jensen’s actually drunk. That he was secretly drinking when Jared wasn’t looking. He never talks this much, so unintelligibly, unless he’s got at least five beers, and something stronger atop of them, inside him. He’s also unbelievably cute when he’s drunk. There’s just something about him when he stops controlling himself, censoring every single word he says, and just lets them flow as freely as they want to. It’s not like he’s some control freak, unable to relax and stop caring about the rest of the world, or the way other people are looking at him, he just likes to have and be in control. He likes to know what he’s doing and what’s going on, and Jared doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it, especially when Jensen’s able to absolutely let go from time to time, too.

A few moments later Jared finds himself nodding, comprehensive, automatically. Soothed by Jensen’s quiet voice and the warmth of the house, the kind of peaceful atmosphere of the whole night, he can feel himself being steadily pulled down under, drifting off to sleep, too. So when Jensen sighs heavily, a little careworn, and whispers, “Love you, Jay,” Jared says, “Love you, too”, before he even pauses to think about it.

Then, five minutes later, when Jensen’s words finally sink in and their real meaning penetrates Jared’s clouded brain, he sits up in astonishment, so abruptly he bangs his knee on the stupidly massive coffee table he’s partly twisted himself under and yelps in pain. The shout tears his dogs out of their slumber, albeit briefly, and Jensen wriggles, mumbling something that Jared absolutely doesn’t manage to catch, and then he’s quiet again, his breathing even.

Jared’s heart, on the other hand, is about to give in to the panic that he suddenly feels. Confusion and guilt, and a pure jumble of feelings and emotions, the majority of which he’s actually unable to even identify.

He turns to glance at Jensen, sleeping and relaxed at last, and smiles, captivated, despite the uncomfortable, heavy sensation settled in his stomach.

Jensen looks young, vulnerable even, stripped of all the masks he’s used to wearing; his disguise of a smile when he feels like crying, of plastered calmness when everything inside him rages... There are many masks that Jensen wears, and Jared doesn’t think that Jensen’s even aware of how many and how often he puts them on. Not now though. Now he’s open, and even more so, stripped to the marrow by his involuntary confession. His hair, no longer spiky, is crumpled and sweaty, and there’s an imprint from the zipper teeth of one cushion stretched across his cheek, crossing the reddened spot where the fist of one of the bad guys landed a little too close to the skin. It’ll play in lovely and vivid blue and green colors tomorrow, no doubt about it. Jared’s eyes unwittingly linger on Jensen’s lips, so full and pink, slightly pouting in sleep, and the thick, dark blonde eyelashes he’s always been fascinated with, unbelievably long and fluttering a little, making him wonder what Jensen’s dreaming about.

Jensen looks... _different_ , somehow. Or maybe his words just all of a sudden changed the way Jared sees him. And maybe they just opened his eyes and caused him to see and realize what he’d been too blind or dull to recognize before. What he always felt and learned to hide, and in fact deny. Jensen’s pretty – there’s just no question about it, and Jared always knew it. Not because he had heard it like a million times, but because he’s got eyes. He’s maybe slow, sometimes, but he’s not blind, and he’s not stupid. Jensen’s definitely the prettiest man Jared knows, which certainly isn’t something that Jared would like to say aloud, and it sure as hell is nothing that Jensen would like to hear. But he’s still pretty and attractive, and there are moments when he looks just plain sexy, no matter that, or maybe just because, it’s the very last thing he would care about.

Like the other day, when Jensen stumbled into the kitchen, his wet hair slicked back and tattered jeans hanging low on his hips, his clumsy, still sleeping fingers trying to button up the black and white plaid shirt that Jared could have sworn had been Dean’s once, revealing the smooth, damp skin underneath and... demanding coffee and a night that had thirty hours. At least.

Jared had actually always been attracted to Jensen, from the moment they met, when Jensen had shaken his hand, saying, “Hey, I’m Jensen.” His voice had been steady and confident, but a glimpse of shyness and uncertainty had flashed in those green eyes, perhaps some surprise at Jared’s height, and Jared had found it unbelievably endearing. Before he knew it, they were friends, best friends clinging to each other in this foreign country, family and friends far off, and depending on each other’s strength and sanity. Jensen’s friendship had become much more important than any fleeting, lurking sexual desire Jared felt towards him.

Now, Jensen’s words are drawing a different picture, asking for more and something else, something stronger and fragile all at once, and Jared wants, is almost certain, that he can give it to him. That he could be able to give Jensen everything he’s asking for. Because he has it to give freely. Because it’s _Jensen_.

Jared’s hand hovers above Jensen’s face, almost involuntarily, hesitates, then shifts lower and his fingers stroke Jensen’s temple, slightly, slowly. He startles, freezing the instant Jensen stirs and sighs sleepily, leaning almost unnoticeable into his touch. Jensen’s forehead wrinkles with confusion then, like even in sleep he’s realizing that something is not quite right, and he opens his eyes, blinking owlishly up at Jared and struggling to focus. “Jay?”

“Ehm.” Jared follows Jensen’s questioning eyes as they slide to his forearm and his fingers curled in Jensen’s hair, and Jared swallows hard, jerking his hand away quickly. “Uh, you... there was a... a smear of blood. Artificial... there you had... ehm.”

He draws back, watching as Jensen yawns and runs his hand over his face as if to chase away the sleep, and then props himself up onto his elbow, looking around in confusion, like a freshly hatched fledgling.

Jared heaves a sigh and stands up, feeling tired and still restless, more and more because he needs to know if Jensen meant what he said, and isn’t sure how to ask, or whether he actually should. “You should go to sleep... to bed, I mean,” he says. “Your back’ll kill you if you stay here. Like this.”

Jensen looks down at himself, discovering the very odd and uncomfortable position he’d surprisingly managed to fall asleep in; half sitting and half lying, left arm crushed underneath his back, one knee folded under the other, limbs unnaturally twisted, like they were made of rubber. He makes to move and groans as the ache shoots through his body, and army of thousands ants come to life, rushing to every nerve ending of his body at once. “Jesus,” he curses, sinking back to the sofa practically boneless. “Don’t wanna move,” he mumbles. “Can’t.”

Jared laughs, can’t really help it, and offers Jensen a hand. “C’mon... up, little fella.”

Jared pulls and Jensen struggles to get up. He tries, he really does, but his legs, being stiff and still asleep, give underneath him the second he stands up and send them both right to the floor with a dual, exhausted _Hmpf_.

“Just kill me,” Jensen says resolutely with a careless wave of his hand, looking at Jared with hopeful eyes, like he really means it.

Jared snorts, a forced, exhausted noise, and shakes his head, then nestles against the edge of the sofa, staring back at Jensen. He’s convinced they’ll spend the night right here, on the floor of the living room. At least, Jensen looks comfortable and sleepy enough to do so. His eyelids keep sliding closed and every time he forces them open, he looks less and less present in Jared’s reality.

Jared contemplates him with a soft smile. He’s never liked silence, he’s always considered it as a waste of time, but being silent with Jensen doesn’t actually feel like being quiet at all. They know how to be silent together, how to talk without saying a single word, almost like telepathy. This time though Jensen’s silence is really silent. And, still, somehow he can tell that there’s something bugging Jared.

Jensen tilts his head to the side slightly, as much as the sofa allows, and arches his eyebrow questioningly, “Hmm?”

Taking a deep breath, Jared decides to set off the mine sooner rather than later. “Did you mean it?” he asks, painting wrinkled lines of bafflement upon Jensen’s forehead.

“Meant what?”

“What you said before.”

“That you’re a good actor? ‘course. You are. And getting better and better.”

“Thanks, but... I didn’t mean that,” Jared objects. “The other thing you said.”

“What did I say?” Jensen looks utterly, adorably puzzled. “Sorry, but I don’t know what else I said.”

“Guess you were talking in your sleep then.” Jared forces a grin and sits up, meaning to finally get up and go to sleep. Maybe it’ll be better if he just lets it go.

“What was I saying?” Jensen demands, looking confused and slightly panicked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Jared’s on his feet when Jensen reaches out, wrapping his fingers tightly around Jared’s wrist, stilling him. “No, wait. Tell me what I said. You look kinda... freaked out. I didn’t say something like... wrong?”

“No.” Jared cracks a smile at Jensen’s expression, perplexed and tense, and drops back to the ground, feeling a sudden loss when Jensen’s fingers leave his forearm. “You said... you said you...”

“What?” Jensen breaks Jared’s silence impatiently, his voice constricted with worry.

“You said you love me.”

Something in Jensen rattles audibly, probably his breath, which gets stuck in his throat at that announcement, and he coughs, his eyes going comically, cartoon-like wide. He turns his head as if to look away, but his eyes are still firmly glued to Jared’s like he actually _can’t_ glance away. “I said... _that_?”

“Yes... Did you-d’you mean it? I mean... is it true?”

A faint but visible blush taints Jensen’s cheeks, and he swallows with difficulty, dropping his gaze to the plush carpet. “I... guess so,” he admits, all shy and embarrassed. And incredibly charming.

“Why didn’t you say it... earlier? Like... ever before?” Jared questions, like he was any braver at admitting his feelings, even to himself.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” Jensen protests as he looks up. “At all... It just slipped out.” He pauses when he realizes that he’s not really answering Jared’s question, and shrugs eloquently. “I guess I wasn’t ready for... you to know that. Yet... I was scared that you might get angry... Or, dunno, disgusted, maybe.” There’s a pile of scared honesty mirrored in Jensen’s eyes, and fear of what Jared’s reaction’s gonna be. Something that Jared can easily understand, because he’s not really sure himself. He only knows that he’s not angry, and definitely not disgusted. When he doesn’t say anything for some time, doesn’t react in any way to Jensen’s disclosure, Jensen looks away, and then jumps, startled, when Jared’s fingers grip the edge of the sleeve of his T-shirt, with a testing sort of tug, and his eyes settle back on Jared’s face, surprised.

“Jensen.” It’s barely a word, constricted and unsure, as Jared leans forward, sliding his hand down Jensen’s bare upper arm. He can feel the telltale shiver that runs through Jensen’s body, and Jensen looks down, tracking Jared’s touch and the goose pimples that follow it with wide eyes.

Jensen speaks up, but his voice cracks and then gets lost completely, “Jared, wha--?“ His eyes darken though, asking: _What are you doin’? Why are you doin’ it?_ , and hoping.

“I don’t know.” Jared concedes, feeling embarrassed heat rising in his face. “I just wanna... kiss you. What you said, you made me think and realize something. A lot of things. I... I like you, Jensen, I guess I always have, just didn’t know... You’re amazing and smart, and you’re sexy, and I’ve always wanted to... tell you so. Wanted to kiss you. Wanted... _you_.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything, not a single word; he just gazes at Jared in stunned wonder, like he’s speaking Martian. There are flames burning in his eyes though, pushing aside the tiredness and forward want and thrill, and he reaches out, fisting his hand in the front of Jared’s T-shirt. His palms are sweating, and his heart beats in a skittish staccato that Jared can see in the pulsing vein in his throat. He bites his lip thoughtfully, unconsciously, driving Jared insane.

Jared’s hand slips lower and he clasps Jensen’s elbow, leaning in closer. So close he can practically feel the heat of Jensen’s mouth and it makes his own lips tingle. “But if you don’t want me to,” he whispers as his other hand cups Jensen’s cheek and the pad of his thumb caresses Jensen’s cheekbone. “Jen, if you don’t want me to--” It’s only a kiss he’s begging for, but it feels like everything he could, or ever wanted to ask for. Like he’s gonna die, or go nuts at least, if he doesn’t taste Jensen’s lips any time soon, preferably right now. He shifts even nearer, brushing his lips against Jensen’s with a barely there, yet still palpable pleading touch. “God, tell me you want me to.”

“Yeah,” Jensen lets out breathlessly, resting his free hand on Jared’s knee. “Yeah.”

And then, finally, their lips meet in a hesitating, unsure touch, and Jared’s heart stops and then speeds up with the realization that this is Jensen. _Jensen_. His lips are warm and dry and softer than Jared thought, and just as sinfully full they seem to be. He pushes the tip of his tongue forward, touching Jensen’s bottom lip, testing, teasing and mapping the contours of his mouth, drawing a content sigh out of the other man. Getting bolder, Jared slips his tongue in between Jensen’s lips, opening them up finally. He can feel Jensen’s fingers grabbing a handful of his sweatpants, curling his hand in the fabric as he parts his lips further, sliding his tongue alongside Jared’s, offering velvety softness and fiery heat, and sensation that makes Jared want to touch, to feel, to crawl inside Jensen and under his skin if he’ll just let him. A wave of want surges through his veins, so raw and sudden it’s actually painful, and he surges forward, causing Jensen to lose his balance and land flat on his back on the floor. The kiss broken, Jensen laughs, his eyes sparkling as he reaches for Jared, tugging him down, too.

  
“Can I stay with you tonight?” Jared asks after a moment, tracing his fingertips up Jensen’s stomach under the fabric of his T-shirt. “I don’t think I’m able to walk up the stairs.”

Jensen props himself up on his elbows and looks down the darkened hall to where his bedroom is, somewhere along the corridor. He sinks back onto the carpet with a long, troubled sigh and shakes his head. “Too far.”

In the end, Jared just pushes the coffee table further away and Jensen drags the quilt from under Harley’s back paws, and they settle down right on the carpet, falling asleep in the middle of Jared’s living room.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _The Romantics_


End file.
